Werewolves: An Essay
by Jemariel
Summary: It's late. Sirius is tired. The essay gets a little botched. (Sirius/Remus) MWPP era. Year 5.


Summary: SLASH!! It's late. Sirius is tired. The essay gets a little botched. (Remus/Sirius.) MWPP era, year 5. Prolouge to a longer piece.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Warning: I'll make it simple: In this story, a boy is in love with another boy. If this bothers you, I suggest you make full use of this magic thing called a back button.  
  
I am a 100% certified and diagnosed feedback junkie. ^_^  
  
Disclaimer: The Divine Mrs. JK Rowling wrote them first and much better than I. Warner Brothers now own them, I think. Some big cheese in a big black leather chair behind a big mahogany desk on the fiftieth floor of some big office building with the cityscape out his big panoramic window that for some reason is behind him owns the characters. I, however, do not own them, and my desk faces the window. ^_^  
  
AN: Just two. This is a prequel. There *will* be more. :) I couldn't leave it here, could I? And, Thanx to my betas Xris, Zeda, and Joanne, for being ever helpful and infinitely more grammer-conscious than I.  
  
~*~Werewolves: An Essay~*~  
  
Sirius Black's exhaustion had officially reached critical levels. Sighing, he leaned back in an armchair that had ceased to be comfortable hours ago and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. At this point, nothing would be very comfortable but his bed. Glancing at the clock on the mantel with slightly unfocused eyes, he forced the numbers to make sense as nearly two thirty in the morning. He had less than six hours until he'd need to be awake, and working his ass off in Transfiguration. He glared at the teetering tower of books that threatened to join the cluttered parchments lying flat on the table top.   
  
He only had a little more homework left to do. He'd once more waited until the last minute to do everything, a tendency that Lily could never understand. ~All her work is usually done by the time the teacher assigns it.~ Sirius thought derisively.   
  
Chuckling, Sirius realigned his thoughts to his werewolf essay. Rereading his last sentence, he wearily picked up where he'd left off.   
  
The first recorded werewolf was approximately 1678 years ago by the name of Cani Rumenia. (The actual history of werewolves, however, may reach as far back as the history of humans.) She was reported to have bitten five wizards and four witches before being deemed unmanageable while "ill" and escorted to a local insane asylum for one day and one night on either side of the full moon. Now, however, we have developed a far easier way of containing werewolves during their "change." The Wolfsbane potion allows a werewolf to retain his or her sense if taken one day before the full moon. It is by far the most humane way of containing a werewolf. Unfortunately, the ingredients are rare, and the potion complicated to make.   
  
Sirius set his quill down and stared, blinking, at his paper. He still needed another one and a half inches, and he didn't think their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Windel, would accept writing "the end" in one and a half inch letters. And so he decided to add a little about his own experience with werewolves as a heartfelt conclusion.   
  
The modern werewolf has a reputation it doesn't really deserve. As with most stereotypes, it's based on a very vocal section of the population that may or may not be the majority. They're made out to be vicious, bloodthirsty killers who hunt humans for the sheer fun of it, but what many don't realize is that they can just as easily be someone's brother, sister, mother, father, lover that werewolves are humans who happen to turn into majestic, mysterious creatures once a month. Werewolves can be beautiful. Werewolves are beautiful. No matter what shape they're in. Werewolves can have silken, tawny hair flecked with the gray of a silver wolf even in childhood. Werewolves can have wise, all-seeing eyes that you just want to drown in. Werewolves' eyes can have an indescribable color. Like fresh honey, but sweeter. Like an owl's, but swifter. Like lanterns, but brighter. Like a roaring fire, but warmer. Werewolves can have smooth, beautiful, amber-colored skin, like silk beneath the fingertips. Werewolves can taste can taste like the sweetest sugar, the smoothest cream, and the tangiest lemon rolled into one delicious flavor. A werewolf's voice can melt knees and turn insides to mush. A werewolf's smile can darken the sun's brightest summer rays. A werewolf's intellect can slice into anything and see a hidden depth that no other eye would see. A werewolf's humor can draw anyone out of the deepest swamps of depression. A werewolf's kiss can be contagious, more intoxicating than any drug, and can melt steel into a puddle in his arms. Remus Lupin's love   
  
Sirius' quill stopped it's mad scratching as the name he'd just written registered. He looked at the last few inches (he now had about six of them over the limit) and paled. A hand smacked to his forehead, asking himself how he could have been so stupid as to let his emotions run away with the ink. He'd never confessed this little infatuation to anyone, and now it had spilled onto the paper without control. ~Note to self: never write an essay about the species of the one you're in love with at~ he glanced at the clock ~three am.~ He considered wiping it blank, but realized that he'd left his wand upstairs and wasn't about to go and get it without falling into bed first. So he simply tore off the last six inches, making sure his romantic gushing would be safely unseen by Wendel's eyes. Wuzzling the scandalous paper into a ball, he tossed it onto the table and sat back in the chair. The fire had long since extinguished itself, leaving only a glowing orb of light from a candle to illuminate the room.   
  
Sirius found himself nearly drifting off to sleep in the once-more comfortable cushions. Forcing his lead-filled limbs to move, he gathered his books and papers into some semblance of order, snuffed the candle, and hauled it all upstairs. After toppling the homework as quietly as he could onto his trunk, he toppled himself as ungracefully as he could onto his bed, still clothed and not even bothering to crawl under the covers. He was asleep before his ear made contact with the pillow.   
  
~*~^~*~   
  
Yawning, Remus Lupin stumbled down the stairs to the red-on-more-red common room, having been awakened from a restless sleep by his monthly nightmares. There was no light anywhere, and Remus didn't feel like getting a candle. He crossed to the window and yanked aside the heavy red curtain. Platinum moonlight spilled in, rippling threateningly across the young werewolf's flesh. He stared at the nearly completed sphere of waxy white hanging among the twinkling heavens. He didn't understand why some people couldn't quite tell if it was full moon, or either of it's bookend days. To him the difference was as clear as if the moon hadn't been there at all.   
  
Remus sighed, his shoulders slumping under an imagined weight. His friends had been trying for nearly two years now, since they'd found out about him, to make themselves into Animagi. He was deeply touched by their devotion to him and had, at first, protested loudly that it was not necessary. But at times like these he really wished they'd hurry up. A big black dog nuzzling its nose into his hand would really cheer him up right about now.   
  
With another sigh, Remus turned to go back up to his room. As he did, his eye was caught by the moonlight reflecting off a crumpled wad of forgotten paper on a table near the fireplace   
  
~Fin ?~   
  
Hehehehe, are I not evil? ^_^ 


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